


every knee shall bow, every tongue shall swear allegiance

by butterscotch (finedae)



Category: Saturday Night Live
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dark Sethon, Dom/sub Undertones, Exhibitionism, Hate Sex, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Power Play, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 14:17:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16286186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finedae/pseuds/butterscotch
Summary: “Shut the fuck up.” Seth rarely ever got this angry, Stefon being all up in his face and laughing at him and just knew exactly how to rile him up and get on his every goddamn nerve. “Just shut the fuck up, Stefon. You don’t know me and you have no idea what you’re talking about.”“Don’t I?” Stefon smirked backing Seth on his doorframe, still fucking laughing, pressing his thigh up between Seth’s legs where…shit.Seth could feel his face go red and hated himself for it.“I know exactly what’sup,Seth Meyers,”





	every knee shall bow, every tongue shall swear allegiance

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to explore Seth's internalized homophobia, and how he's too much of a woke good guy to acknowledge it, and also how exasperating it would be to have Stefon as an actual recurring character in SNL as himself. poor PR team.  
> i also wanted to write porn. There isn't nearly enough sethon porn and that needed rectifying.
> 
>  
> 
>  **warning:** use of homophobic slurs, and just to be clear it is absolutely consensual from both parties.

The video TMZ released went viral on social media, because there’s nothing people liked sharing more than some D-lister lashing out at the press. The grainy footage showed a handful of paparazzi trailing outside the East Village’s hottest club, BARF, where a certain blonde streaked city correspondent was seen entering, _definitely_ coked out, and pointing up a middle finger to the eagerly shuttering lenses. He ignored the onslaught of _”Stefan! Look here! Hey! What is a human machine gun?! Stefon!”_ and almost tripped over a trash can, when the concierge of the club seeming two tall drag queens come out to usher the paps away.

At one last desperate attempt to grab a headline at a tabloid, someone shouted out, “What does Seth Meyers’ cock taste like to get on NBC?!”

Stefon turned at that, throwing a punch at the nearest camera as his drag queen acquaintance guards grabbed him by the arms and took him inside, and he blew a kiss at the cameras and yelled out, _“Why don’t you kiss my ass and find out?”_

It was a PR nightmare.

 

Saturday Night Live is as much as in the service industry as it is in entertainment. You get good at it when you have to entertain self important egomaniacs an entire week, for half a year. But they’re usually gone by a week never to return and not a sudden featured appearance and entirely the headwriter’s responsibility. Lorne says so as much when he called Seth to his office before the show.

“The reason Jimmy has his own show is because he plays well with others. I trust you to be able to do the same.” Lorne said, tight lipped. The implication hung in the air, as Fallon was being considered for the coveted Tonight Show spot, someone’s going to take over as his Late Night replacement. But this was unfair, it’s out of Seth’s power to control someone else’s actions.

“I am. But he’s not even part of the cast! I can’t—“ Seth protested.

“He was a risk move, and it payed off. The ratings speak for themselves,” Lorne said with a tone of finality. It’s true, the audience love Stefon cause they can’t figure out his deal and the fact that his out-of-this-world clubs _exist_ (rumour has it, Lorne’s a shareholder) and the fact that he’s not your carefully publicist crafted celebrity, hell, he’s not even an actor! Which is why he didn’t even work in skits, and features barely reading off cue cards on update with Seth. “So whether you like it, or not, your public image is attached to his. And when I approach the network for you, I’m staking my reputation on yours. Figure it out, Seth.”

Seth gritted his teeth. “Yes, sir.”

Being in a service industry meant head of staff duties came with dealing with your boss’s dirty dishes when he couldn’t risk alienating his ratings maker. Not only if a sketch he didn’t write bombed at dress rehearsal is his responsibility, or the network thinks they’re being too political — or not political enough, now Seth Meyers had to go keep a certain city correspondent in check.

 

Everything was going to shit. First, a major prop component collapsed right before rehearsals which meant they had to rewrite the entire cold open in an office structure, and change costumes, dialogue and setting accordingly. Seth had to oversee changes and talk to the producers, and their unreliable Update featured player hadn’t arrived on set yet, and Seth definitely overheard an extra holding out their phone and lamenting to an intern how they auditioned three years in a row, but it turns out if you really want a gig here you gotta suck up to the boss. That made him stop in his tracks but the intern scurried off when they noticed said boss man, accidentally knocking his coffee. God-fucking-dammit.

 

“Sorry, is your reputation ruined because the Human Cameramen say you shoved it up my ass?” Stefon materialised out of nowhere it seemed, leaning against Seth’s office wall, leg backed against the wall and lit cigarette in hand, and eyeing him up. “This _is_ basically theatre, people were bound to—“

“Stop.” Seth punctuated with the last dregs of patience he could muster. Whatever almost friendly banter they have on air, and that is duly credited to Seth’s professionalism and the writers, not any actual friendship between the two. And Stefon couldn't just walk into his office and crack jokes like they’re some budding pals.

To his credit, Stefon did stop, his cigarette ashes fell on the office carpet. His eyes narrowed and his mouth hardened to a sneer. “Don’t wanna be associated with a _queer,_ huh?”

Stefon managed to get on Seth’s every goddamn nerve and it had _nothing_ to do with him being gay. Even when it’s how Seth is lumped in with the countless Fox News fear-mongering of Hollywood’s degenerate homosexuals ruining the youth through primetime midnight television, or constantly being lambasted by liberal bloggers writing thinkpieces on _**Uncle Stefon:** or how the lgbt TV elite is complicit in perpetuating harmful stereotypes about the community and ruining the good name of clubbing_ _,_ who all yell at Seth on Twitter how he singlehandedly unthrew the first brick at Stonewall and set back gay rights half a century.

That particular comment set something off in Seth, along with every fucking thing that’d happened that he’s now apparently in charge of, but Stefon especially showing up in his office, in _his_ space after assaulting the paps and probably ruining his chances of getting on Late Night then accusing _him_ of homophobia.

It happened in a rush, a blur of motion and sensation that Seth couldn’t parse. One moment he was grabbing Stefon’s arm, his every impulse spoiling for a fight, free hand clenched in a tight fist that he couldn’t wait to throw at Stefon’s smug face; and the next…

“What’re you gonna do about?” Stefon taunted, back arched against the wall and smirking, his eyes followed the path of Seth’s fist clenched to his sides. He exhaled a puff of nicotine smoke right at Seth’s face.

“Fuck you,” Seth spat. He wanted to say that he doesn’t give a shit that Stefon’s gay, he gives a shit how Stefon takes this all for granted, a stage that most other aspiring comics and artists would kill to get a chance to perform on. Instead, he acts like _he’s_ doing them a favour by showing, inebriated as hell and pupils blown so wide, and slurring and giggling through his lines that the audience eats up. The only notes they get are Seth; to smile instead of looking irritated so the audience plays off of his reactions, he accepts through gritted teeth and moves on. Seth Meyers was not about to let a decades’ worth of work be undermined by a fucking club kid in glitter.

Instead, Seth took the cigarette from Stefon’s mouth and threw it to the ground, stubbing it with his foot. The momentary surprise on Stefon’s face was almost worth acting on the impulse, until he started giggling. “Hey now, just cause you’re anti fag—”

“Shut the fuck up.” Seth rarely ever got this angry, Stefon being all up in his face and _laughing_ at him and insinuating falsehoods about him made the tips of his nerves on fire. “Just shut the fuck up, Stefon. You don’t know me and you have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” Stefon smirked backing Seth on his doorframe, still fucking laughing, pressing his thigh up between Seth’s legs where… _shit._ Seth could feel his face go red and hated himself for it.

“I know exactly what’s up, Seth Meyers,” Stefon practically purred into his neck, could feel the exact moment Seth froze. “I know _all_ about your type. You wouldn’t _dare.”_ Stefon practically challenged.

Seth’s heart raced, knowing that the way his hips were still riding Stefon’s thigh was giving him away. He was acutely aware that the only thing stopping anyone from entering his office and finding their head writer in such a precarious position is the weight of his body leaning on the door, and Stefon.

He wasn’t sure when he lost control of this situation, but he was fucking determined not to lose any more. Not to Stefon. Stefon obviously thinks he has him in a bind now, some fucked up game of chicken to prove a point about him being homophobic or whatever he could feel self righteous about.

Seth leaned in instead, biting Stefon’s lips, and it was nothing like a kiss; not even when Stefon opened up easily, offered his tongue to Seth’s teeth, laughing into his mouth.

“Mmm, forceful,” Stefon said in a low, gasping voice that was infuriating, even as it made Seth’s stomach flip. “Knew you had it in you.”

“Get on your knees,” Seth growled, biting Sean’s tongue because it was _there_ and enjoying the little yelp of pain and surprise it yielded. “Get on your fucking knees.”

 _“Sethy,”_ Stefon gasped, perfectly mock-scandalized. Then his eyes narrowed, as if sizing up an actual opponent, and he raked his nails down Seth’s sides as he went, sinking to his knees gracefully in one smooth swoop on the shitty beige carpet of the office Seth has worked in for a decade.

 _Fuck._ This is fucked up.

“You all talk, Meyers?” Stefon mocked, looking up through his stupid long lashes, and the sight of Stefon on his knees, glitter on his cheekbones, looking up at Seth shouldn’t be so arousing.

“Do you ever shut up?” God, Seth had a million thoughts going on in his mind why they absolutely shouldn’t be doing this and all of them shut up as Stefon’s fingers curled through the belt loops of Seth’s Update slacks and undoing the buckles. Lord, he _works_ in these.

“You gonna do something about it?” Stefon teased, ending on a choked-out gasp as Seth made a tight fist in his hair, yanking his head back.

“Open your mouth,” Seth said, and it would have been much more satisfying if Stefon hadn’t been smiling, lips still turned up at the corners like he won a bet even as they closed around the head of Seth’s dick; his hips bucking traitorously into that too-slick heat. He braced a hand on the doorframe and tried not to think too hard.

 _“God…”_ he breathed quietly, so quietly, almost wishing Stefon wasn’t so good at this, but Stefon heard him anyway, drawing back with a wet smacking sound to look Seth right in the face..

“If you’d like. I do go by Stefon though.”

Seth yanked at Stefon’s hair again, dragging his dull nails through his scalp and _not_ enjoying ruining the perfect, meticulously ironed hair and the winces coming out of Stefon’s mouth. He _wasn’t._ “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Stefon almost choked at that. “Yes, mommy.” He fluttered his eyelashes.

“Christ, you’re fucked up, this is so fucked up, I can’t…” Seth’s external monologue broke off with a sharp whine as Stefon’s lips closed once more around his dick, sucking hard, tongue fucking at his slit like it was trying to get inside him, and damn him, _damn him_ , Stefon knew exactly what the fuck he was doing.

The fucker was _still laughing._

Bracing his forearm on the door for leverage, Seth gripped Stefon’s hair even tighter and snapped his hips forward, forcing the man to stop laughing, to swallow around him or choke on it. Both options sent a pulse of arousal straight to the base of his cock.

Stefon balked for a moment then went oddly still, eyes sliding shut as his throat worked around the invasion. He hummed softly in the back of his throat, looking for all the world like a man who had just gotten exactly what he wanted.

“You like that,” Seth said, half to himself, the wonder stupidly obvious in his voice before he could control himself. Stefon sucks cock like he found God, purpose, and the meaning of life all that once.

Stefon groaned and dug his fingers into Seth’s ass, pulling him even deeper until his nose was shoved awkwardly into the dark hair at the base of Seth’s cock, practically swallowing it whole.

“Fucking _look at you._ This is what your mouth was really made for, Stefon. Anyone could walk in right the walk now, and anyone seeing you like this, on this knees, would think those reporters are right. You did blow me for the job. This is what you… really want, isn’t it?”

Tears glistened on the corners of Stefon’s lashes, an involuntary response, but god, god, he looked so fucking pretty it out Seth suddenly on the edge.

Seth shuddered and bit his lip against the shocked noise he wanted to make as he came, not willing to give Stefon any more than he had to.

Stefon sat back on his heels and let it happen, kept his eyes closed and his mouth open, swallowing it whole, and blinking his eyes open, the image of wrecked — his red mouth, tear streaked eyes messing his eyeliner, mussed up hair. He looked gorgeous.

“Calm and quiet Seth Meyers,” he said, breathless and bruised deep. “Who would’ve thought?”

Seth’s knees turned to jelly as his brain went on overdrive, trying to gauge the ramifications of what just happened and not just the afterglow of a mind blowing orgasm. Outside the office, the humdrum of people getting ready for Saturday’s show was bustling away — no one aware of what had occurred in the head writers’ office, but hardly anything this office hasn’t seen before.

“Update in 5.” Seth heard someone call outside, and quickly eases himself back in his pants. Stefon’s still on the floor, half hard straining in his jeans, and Seth half deliberated helping him out before opting not to, and heard Stefon’s stunned laughter-turn-whine in response.

“You’re... fucking crazy.” Was all Seth could come up with, not wanting to give the impression he was left speechless, 10+ years in the industry of coming up with witty comebacks for a living, folks.

Stefon seemed to have no qualms about that, immediately sniping back with a, “And you’re fucking _me,_ ” rolling his eyes and waving at Seth to go deal with stupid joke show. Stefon has dealt with much worse blue balls in less time, and he just got enough porn fodder to last him hours.

Seth Meyers straightened his jacket and walked out, entirely dazed at the turn of events; well aware he’s not the one with visible carpet burn on his ripped jeans’ kneeholes, and another man’s come down his throat, and yet he’s the one who somehow got played.

**Author's Note:**

> who did i write this fic for, you ask? well, myself. but also for the poor columnist of any 'hip' pop culture reporting site who will be commissioned to write about 'did you know internet people write porn about THESE vintage SNL characters?! OMG!' article. for you, specifically. enjoy!
> 
> (yell at me on the tumbler if you want: @steponmemeyers)


End file.
